Target Practice
by Tynesider
Summary: Trying doesn't always mean succeeding, as young Hunter finds out. OneShot.


The young cheetah raised the bow again, took a second to steady his aim then fired. Not for the first time the arrow missed, hurtling harmlessly past the target and embedding itself in the hill behind it.  
>"Hmm," the older cheetah at his side grunted, "Have another go."<br>He withdrew another arrow from the quiver and held it out to his protégé, but the youngster dropped his bow to the floor in defiance.  
>"No," he huffed, crossing his arms. His mentor blinked in a mixture of surprise and disgust.<br>"What did you just say?" he asked.  
>"I'm not doing this anymore. I always miss!"<br>"Failure is part of learning, Hunter. Without it we wouldn't have the motivation to improve."  
>"Well it's been two weeks and I've only hit the target five times! I want out!" Hunter went to stomp away, but the older cheetah grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him back in front of the target.<br>"You're going nowhere, young man. I've been told to teach you the art of archery and I will not let you walk away just because you can't do it!" he strode forward and grabbed the bow. He slotted an arrow against the string, raised it to his eyeline and fired. The arrow pierced the centre circle of the target. "You don't learn to do that in two weeks, my boy. That sort of accuracy takes years of dedication to achieve, and while you may not be an archer for that long I'm obliged to at least teach you how to hit a target ninety-nine times out of a hundred!" He thrust the bow back into Hunter's unwelcoming hands and grabbed another arrow, holding it in front of his face, "Now again."

Hunter stared at the point of the arrow, its tapered spike hovering closer to his eyes than he felt comfortable with. What was this fixation with archery all about? Why did the grown-ups insist on teaching every last cheetah how to use a bow? Surely there were better uses of the time? Building better houses, for example – most of the houses in the tribe were hastily built shacks begging to topple over. Would it really kill them to stop the archery every once in a little while to work on other things? Though Hunter could tell by the attitude his mentor took that it probably would.  
>"I said no!" Hunter scowled, pushing the arrow away from him, "Archery is stupid!"<br>The elder cheetah stood still for a moment, then raised his free hand and cuffed Hunter around the ear. The youngster howled in pain. "Ow!" he whined, rubbing his throbbing lobe, "What was that for?"  
>"Disobeying me," the mentor snapped, "You can think archery is stupid all you like, but when I tell you to do something you do it. Understand?"<br>Hunter said nothing, not daring to make eye contact with the angry man towering over him. "Understand?" the mentor repeated, fiercer this time.  
>"Yes," Hunter muttered.<br>"Look at me when you're talking to me!"  
>"I said sorry already."<br>This comment earned him another cuff around the ear.  
>"Yes," Hunter said forcefully, looking his teacher in the eye.<br>"Good," he held out the arrow again, "Now back to work."

Hunter loaded the arrow and raised his bow, muttering angrily under his breath as he did so. He narrowed his eyes at the target, training his sight on that elusive golden ring that would make him a legend among his classmates. He briefly thought of Fiona, the first person in his year group to hit the centre circle, and how his fellow students had idolised her. He would kill for that sort of respect from his peers, having lived most of his childhood as an inbetweener: not cool enough to be among the alpha males but not smart enough to be considered brainy. Here was his chance to break free of the shackles of the school class system, and all he had to do was let go of a bow.

His scrawny arms began to ache under the weight of the bow and trembled, ruining his aim. Gritting his teeth, he tensed his muscles to stabilise his limbs as much as he could, quickly aimed at the golden circle and fired. The arrow shot forward and impaled itself in the blue ring. Hunter felt the inevitable pang of disappointment attack his stomach, yet his mentor nodded approvingly.  
>"Excellent," he said, "See what you are capable of when you apply yourself?"<br>"I didn't hit the gold though," Hunter replied sadly.  
>"Son, don't run before you can walk. In time you will be able to hit the centre of the target with ease, but for now remember that every hint of progress is a victory," he handed Hunter another arrow, "See if you can hit the target again."<br>Hunter nodded, a new determination filling his eyes. He loaded, raised and fired again, this time shooting the border between white and black. He groaned and lowered his head in shame.  
>"Do not be disheartened, boy! That's the first time you've hit the target twice in a row!" the mentor encouraged, passing him another arrow.<p>

Time passed, the sun peaking in the sky and beginning to dip, but Hunter carried on firing. He drew back the bow until his fingers throbbed, firing arrow after arrow at the well-torn target. Most of his shots missed and embedded themselves in the soil, but the few that hit just wouldn't touch the prized gold. He fired every arrow with the grit and determination to succeed, to propel his name to the top of the school pecking order, and while his best shot scraped the red none would venture into the uncharted territory of gold.  
>"That's enough for today," the mentor said finally, examining the sun as it encroached on the horizon line, "You've made excellent progress, Hunter. You will make a fine archer, but only if you're determined to become one."<br>Hunter handed back his bow and stomped away from his teacher, ignoring his inspiring words. "All you need is to try, Hunter, and you will eventually succeed," he added, bemused at the huffy ten year old pounding his way across the grass.  
>"I did try!" Hunter shouted, angrily turning to face his mentor, "And it didn't work!"<br>"Then keep trying," he replied calmly, "And one day your efforts will bear fruit." But Hunter didn't hear the soothing words of the archery master. He had ran away to bask in his failure to achieve, pressing furiously against his hot eyes to stop the bitter tears from flowing.


End file.
